


Catch Me If You Can

by Tizian23



Category: Carl Barât - Fandom, Julian Casablancas - Fandom, Peter Doherty - Fandom, The Libertines, The Strokes
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Band Fic, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Drinking, Drinking Games, M/M, Open Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizian23/pseuds/Tizian23
Summary: The Boys are slightly bored at the NME awards when something shiny catches Peters eye.Carl approves.
Relationships: Carl Barat/Pete Doherty, Peter Doherty / Julian Casablancas
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. Another Boys Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> This was a the first and only request ficI ever wrote on LJ cos we both agreed on how lovely Julian Casablancas was and he should be shagged by Peter so we could die in a content puddle on the floor. Indulge me here please for a second cos its gonna be fun, trust me!  
> Here you go, I hope you like it..it ll pick up speed soonish  
> 💜  
> this is an older fic that I repost here for general entertainment and sentimentality. please forgive the maybe sloppy wording and mistakes. I just had started writing when I came up with this.

As I walk over to the bar at the boring NME-Award Aftershow - now more bordering on 'binge' though -

I see Pete there, already a bit slumped into  
the high bar chair, holding onto not one, but two, drinks.

" ...And? How are things going here?" I say, slinking to his side,  
touching his arm, stealing his drink and eyeing him all over in one  
quick move. Yet he is actually not the drunken, wired mess I expected  
him to be by now ..Au Contraire, he looks focused and wears his "Fuck  
me or fuck off" face; which only ever means he's got his eyes on  
something lovely he wants to have/corrupt/get naked underneath him.  
His left foot tapping by the stool's legs, he is thinking and he smiles  
as if he is itching for something; a challenge, a kiss, or maybe a  
sparring match.

'Hu? Oh Ello Carlos.." he says, wrapping his long arm around my shoulder  
and leaning a sweaty forehead against my temple. His breath smells like  
Gin Tonic and he seems to be all big eyes and wet lips, no bloody nose  
just yet.

"You having fun, luv? I am..." His voice trails off and I let my  
eyes follow his gaze. I take in the scenery he is observing like a  
hunter looking over a field that the unsuspecting wild game is  
crossing. A pack of boys, dressed way too leisurely for this occasion, dirty jeans and sneakers,  
fooling around, bouncing about like drunk puppies. They are all  
brunettes, they are all skinny, carefree indie kids plunged into the  
sudden rockstar thing without noticing what changed the air around  
them so suddenly, but nonetheless living it out. They are close to each  
other - in a long time, soul connecting, innocently over  
tactile way - just as Pete and I are, only there are 5 of them and  
not just 2.  
I'm a bit horrified and slightly amused by the premonition of trouble:

" Please, No!... you gotta be kidding me! That's... No, don't even try  
it. They're Brooklyn boys..hes gonna punch you."

I don't need to ask which one of them he is leering at. The pretty one  
with the arse and the tie-able wrists. The immaculate olive skin that  
he is showing off rather obliviously has a smooth gold sheen  
underneath, though it's lighter on the inside of his arms and where he  
sweeps his hair away from his neck. Wonderfully tall, not too  
skinny, a shaggy cocoa fringe that looks like either a $500 haircut or  
something that his friend did on a chair in his kitchen. His hands are  
large and he moves them incessantly when he talks - his whole attitude exhales the  
proper heady mix of insecurity and the snotty grandezza of someone who  
has never in his life heard the word " No!"

" No they re not. They're all spoiled trust fund brats. I wanna try,  
maybe I can get away with it...who you think is he sleeping with?"

" Dunno..prob'ly all of them..."  
He pushes his other drink over to me whilst we silently watch said brats  
collapse all over each other on a lush leatherette sofa; curious hands,  
open mouths, pulled up t-shirts and dark curlycues everywhere...  
Then we both see the hand in the pretty one's hair, pulling his head back  
to expose a long tanned neck that different mouth latches onto for a  
brief second. I can almost feel Pete's cock twitch at this sight.  
He'll have to get him alone though, cos Pete is a dirty boy but I honestly  
doubt that he is up to the task of all 5 of them.  
"If you get thumbed no one of us will drive you to the A&E this time.  
I can't and Gary won't. He is still pissed off about last time."

"Yeah, I know. Was worth the fun though, you should have seen Bono's  
face..." He sniggers, then interrupts himself as the brats bounce by in  
a large loud cloud of laughter, smoke and giggles; champagne bottles in  
their hands, followed by a bunch of hangers-on and excited journos. I  
count only 4 though and so did Pete, I'm sure, cos he grins like a loon  
as he turns around and waves the pretty girl behind the bar over to  
order 3 large tequilas. I've seen this trick of his before..

" You re so evil" I say, smiling, before he walks over to the couch with  
the 3 not-so small glasses in one hand. He pushes my Wayfarers up on  
my nose and kisses me twice; under my ear and on my temple. My boy,  
running off to conquer the New World, or at least the most interesting  
parts of it. I am intrigued.

His unsuspecting prey is still stretched out on the giant couch after all  
the other boys climbed off him...he dangles his feet in dirty Chucks  
over the arm of the settee, one of them twitching to the beat of  
the band downstairs (Oh, disease of all musicians!) His eyes are  
closed as he absentmindedly runs his fingertips over the taunt skin  
just above the waistband of his jeans as exposed by his tatty shirt.  
Pete stalks over perfectly under anyone's (but my) radar and slides  
his tiny arse onto the seat next to the boy, who lazily opens his eyes  
to look at him in a pleased, surprised way. Pete says something then  
bends down to whisper in his ear. The boy smiles, nods and takes one  
of the shot glasses. They look into each other's eyes and I see the spark  
between them from over here, then with a 'cheers' to each other they down  
the Tequila. Pete swallows easily (not that I doubted that for a  
second) with a grin, whilst the boy coughs and scowls at the taste,  
which will now be his doom, as Pete hands him the left-over third  
drink, picking up the slice of orange accompanying it and placing  
it between his lips. They both giggle as the pretty one leans up with  
a dirty smile to deliberately slowly lick the cinnamon off the orange  
slice between Pete's lips. He bravely downs the vile shot, shaking  
himself in the aftermath. They look into each other's eyes again as he pulls  
Pete in by his tie and starts sucking on the orange slice... Juice runs  
down from their lips, over Pete's chin and down his perfect white throat.  
The boy lifts a sly hand and pulls the bitten orange peel out from  
between their lips and drops it carelessly to the floor. Their lips  
don't even part over this, I can see their tongues meet. Then he  
starts following the trail of juice over Pete's chin and down his throat,  
licking it slowly. Pete's eyes are closed; lost now in the surprisingly  
easily won prize, whilst the boy looks at him curiously with large dark  
eyes, hiding more than giving away.  
Oh, I think... a secret control freak...Pete might have underrated the pretty boy. After the boy's mouth  
moves up to his gasping lips again to continue kissing, he leaves a mark  
on Pete's skin in wake; just where his neck meets his shoulder,  
where the skin is so soft and almost translucent.  
The hickey is dark enough for me to see it, even from over here  
Running his fingers up his neck and under his hair, Pete ups the ante a bit  
as the boy pulls him down. In an attempt to balance out their odd position,  
he stretches out on the couch next to him. Looking over his  
shoulder, the boy locks eyes with me across the bar. I can't see him smile  
cos Pete's unruly hair blocks my view, but I can see that he slowly raises a  
cocky eyebrow at me. Challenging and daring; utterly fucking sexy.

Then a lot of things happen at the same moment: I hear the racket  
announcing the return of the brats from the loos on my right side and  
see the rest of my own band, together with Russell, stroll into the  
picture from the left side. Straight across from me I see Pete on top  
of the boy on the couch, his shirt open and his knee slowly sliding  
up between the lean thighs of the boy who is arching his back  
beautifully. I have to take a second in my eye of the storm to admire  
their open mouth kisses; hungry, sloppy, wet like boys kiss when they  
have stopped thinking cos they are hard... his white hand sliding  
reverently up the boy's side, under his shirt, revealing more  
tantalizing skin, the golden hue darker on his belly.  
At least Pete's advances have wiped the bored pout off the boys face, they seem to  
be positively enjoying themselves. Pink lips and fluttering lashes; things  
are getting rather hot...hands frigging everywhere. Holy Shit, has he  
just unbuckled him on that sodding couch in plain view at a aftershow  
party?  
I down the drink Pete left next to me, then walk over to my band and  
ask deliberately happily;  
"Say Gary, John - have you already met the Strokes? Maybe we should go  
over and introduce ourselves and have a drink together...I mean...it;s only  
polite, we stole their award earlier, rite?"

" Yeah, drinks!" cheers Russell, before he stumbles over his own feet  
as he discovers the couch.  
" Oh...ah...Carl..?"  
The brats have stopped in front of some telecamera, being blinded  
by the lights and interviewed. Gary's head swings around and he groans  
as he follows Russell's eyes.

"Honestly, does he collect bounty for celebs? I am not over Bono just  
yet..." Yeah, I get it. Gary had to drive the bleeding, laughing two  
of us to the hospital afterwards. He made me pay the bill for the car  
seat cleaning.  
"He didn't wanna shag Bono, it was a joke." Jawn, reasonable as  
always, when faced with debauchery. Russell is finally back with us..  
"Oh God, Carl, you know he's just took off Julian's t-shirt? That is Julian right?"

X


	2. Peter Dohertys' Guide on How To Conquer The New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter conquers America..or some parts of it at least.   
> Carl still approves.

I come back to my senses a bit when the naughty little brat slips his hand into my pants.Mind you, I do want to ravish him right now, but I  
don't really fancy being beaten up by 4 angry boyfriends. Cos just like  
Carl, I know that these kids, trust fund or not, stand up for each  
other and love to throw themselves into fisticuffs for everything, nothing  
and -of course - each other. Finding their precious out of his  
mind leathered singer half naked beneath me on the very couch  
they left him dozing on 10 minutes ago will not go unnoticed or  
without revenge. Hence I recognise the steps coming towards our  
couch as Carl's well known quickstep. I feel his hand sliding into my  
hair and roughly pulling me halfway out of the kiss as he whispers in  
my ear:

"P, will you please move this lewd rascality to the bloody backstage  
loo? I am not drunk enough yet for the next award scuffle..." He nips  
my earlobe before he lets go of my hair and walks away with out so  
much as a second glance. I look down at Julian... Oh fuck, would you  
please look at this tart? His hair disheveled, his eyes closed  
(finally!), a little fey smile on his generous mouth; licking his  
lips, relishing my taste (God, I can't even think about how much I want  
to see those lips on all the other parts of my body asap) He is  
breathing fast and shallow and I feel his excitement pressing into my  
hip in the most in the most up-and-coming way. I lean up and quickly  
look around. I see my band and Russell followed by Carlos, walking past  
the bar towards Julian's band, who are luckily blinded by a  
tv camera standing just between them and our couch. I pull myself  
together and give his chin a little shake till he opens his eyes :

" Alright pretty boy, let's get you shagged! Come on!" I get up and  
button my pants provisionally, leaving my shirt open but fastening the jacket  
of my suit instead as I pull him upright. He tries to pick up  
his shirt from where we dropped it earlier; giggling and randy like  
teenagers, but I playfully (okay and a tad greedily) drag him away.

The "Backstage loo" is a tiny one-stall employees loo, which Carl and  
I discovered earlier behind a curtain nearby. We used it repeatedly  
for sniffing devious substances throughout the night, before we got  
separated to follow our own traces for a while....then I discovered  
The Brats and looked at them for a while, fascinated by their  
tactility and close connectedness in world so completely their own  
and admiring the innocent way they shared their affections without giving  
a shit about public perception.  
Grabbing his left wrist - so delicate that I can easily encase it in a lose  
thumb-index-finger grasp - I pull him over to the unsuspicious curtain  
just behind the couch. As soon as the fabric touches the floor again  
behind us - before I even can open the door - Julian slams me into it and  
himself into my chest roughly, grabbing me around my hip and my neck.  
He smiles and in the half-lit neverland of not plain view, but not  
alone either, I see about 5 different expressions flit over his face in  
short order before he kisses me impatiently .There is a very  
innocent smile almost like a kid; trusting and carefree, followed by a  
filthiness that takes my breath away with it's intensity and the ingrained  
precariousness of being out of his depth without his boys as  
a shelter... then a hint of an analysing thoughtfulness and ending with  
a cute turned-on want, so genuine and playful that I can't decide if I  
wanna bend him with out further ado over the sink and fuck  
him senseless, or undress him slowly, wrap him in silk sheets beneath  
the moonlight and make love to him all night.

"Sooo, English Bouy, you all big words and just starin at me...or  
you gonna fuck me already?" He has the most sexy voice, of deepest  
blue, without the hint of a rasp; like licking honey off a razor  
blade, seductive and painful all the same...I take his head in one  
hand, fingertips on his neck and rub my thumb over his dirty mouth as  
I slide my spit-slick hand down into his jeans, bypassing his boxers,  
wrapping around his cock, wanting to see what changes in his eyes when  
I touch him like that. He kisses with open eyes, does he fuck with  
open eyes too?  
His lips silently part for my thumb, his lashes flutter for a brief  
second...my digit rests on his open lips without slipping in as a  
sweet little sigh escapes him, followed by a moan so deep and loud  
that I quickly press my thumb into his mouth while I imagine my pants  
busting over my hard-on. Carl moans sweet and clipped, hungrily, he  
whispers dirty things and resorts to begging near the end, but he is never  
that loud unless I hurt him.

" Sshhh" I whisper in his ear, "You're gonna get us in tremendous  
trouble, you noisy brat! Let me take where you wanna be..." I know that if  
I actually really touch him now Carl and I will end up at A&E again, but  
I wanna hear him; every single little hitch, gasp, sigh, moan or  
scream. I wanna hear if he talks, or if I render him speechless. WOW,  
I am so frigging hard I might actually explode if I don't get him  
naked in the next few moments.

*

I plop myself down into the now deserted leatherette to nurse my  
import beer in peace after an entertaining but loud encounter with  
the actually not-that-bratty Strokes, involving a lot of shouting and a rather  
confusing mix of street slang and boarding school vocabulary. Suddenly  
I hear a low muffled sigh from behind me. Looking over my shoulder I  
see the tips of Julian's Chucks peeking out under the curtains hiding  
the door to the "backstage loo". Next there's a loud full-on vocal moan, cut  
off by what I imagine a large white hand with dirty nails slapped over  
an invitingly open - soon to be well snogged - rather pretty mouth. I can't  
help but snigger as I turn around back to my beer. As I hear more  
fidgeting and Pete's turned on giggle I say, quite loudly  
"Oy! Pete", full well knowing he understands.  
20 seconds later I hear the click of the door closing behind the dirty sods and exhale in relief.

*

Finally alone with him. I don't know where to start. He is topless, so  
much summer skin that it's making me clueless. Hot to the touch and  
pressing himself tightly into me, he feels very naked and looks a little bit  
lost. His eyes, large and dark, blank of all the things I read on his  
face just a minute ago. I wonder how he wants this - how he wants me. I  
open my blazer and my shirt for him, he steps into me with the same  
expression Carl wears on his face, exhaling, deeply hidden behind the  
amps briefly before he leaps out on stage. Our skin touches for the  
first time, his hands snake around my waist, he sinks into my arms,  
yielding and soft. I take him over to the stall and lean into the  
wall, not wanting the cold tiles next to his sun kissed skin,  
keeping all his heat for me. He touches my hair, then copies what I did with my thumb earlier, softly sliding his finger over my lower lip, as if he is trying to make a decicion:

"Fuck, you feel so good... your skin, you are hot...." he purrs  
soft fingers traveling down my chest. The insecurity gone from his  
eyes...he is suddenly melting down into a purring sex kitten, running  
sharp little nails down my back, sucking on my tongue, one hand in my  
pocket rubbing me teasingly.  
"I want you to suck my cock" he says, licking a fingertip to slowly rub my  
ink surrounded nipple with a very talented finger whilst he looks into my  
eyes, daring me....Ah Fuck, who am I to say no to that...

x


	3. Take my Breath Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter realises The New World is Not as easy to conquer as he assumed.   
> Carl still approves.

3

When I notice that my beer is empty I am annoyed enough to look up and pay attention to what's happening around me.

I watch my band and the brats taking up their task of getting properly wasted under Russell's expert instruction. They seem to be so leathered already that I seriously doubt they've yet noticed that their singer is missing.   
Suddenly I feel something vibrate under my left arse cheek. When ignoring it for a while doesn't really work, I put on a hopefully convincing pokerface and start roaming my hand beneath the pillows I'm sitting on without moving too much.   
Finally my fingers hit something small and round. It stops vibrating as soon as I touch it, but I pull it out none the less. It must be   
Julian's. It's tiny and blue and I almost drop it as it starts ringing in my hand again. I hastily stuff it back under my arse and try to   
look unsuspicious. Then I discover the t-shirt they lost on the floor right in front of me as they took off for the loo. Fuck, this will   
stir trouble... I reach out and pull it closer with the tip of my boot and pick it up. As Russell yells over 'Right, Carl?" I stuff it into my jacket without thinking about it.

***

Dropping to my knees I try to think of how to proceed. He looks down to me with large expectant eyes and unbuckles himself for me.. No   
underwear, not that this surprises me a great deal. He is already half-hard, his prick almost jumping in my face as I peel down dirty   
jeans over skinny hips. His hand rests in my hair, slowly wrapping a strand around each finger, not pulling me in, but letting me know that he is getting impatient... Whilst I'm looking at him he gets harder by the second.   
He is cut of course, like all American boys; pretty big, I wonder if I'll manage to fit all that deliciousness into my mouth at once...his cock leans slightly to the   
right, the crown dipping into his flat belly button, flushed and silken looking, a large vein running along the underside pulsing with a   
hummingbird heart rate... I bend forward and lick away a drop of pre-come, slowly sliding down from the slit in anticipation.

"Come on, Please...let me in..." 

He breathes it like it's all he's ever wanted, so I stop procrastinating and suck his cock into my mouth; slow and   
hard and all the way down until my lips touch his balls and my nose is buried in his glossy dark curls. He smells like soap and skin and   
tastes salty and clean with a hint of sweet. His low, deep moan is the randiest sound I ever heard someone make - right after Carlos starting to beg me - of course. His hand tightens in my hair in the same way that I tighten my lips around his cock.

"OH Fuck..." 

He gasps it out like a cry for help, steadying himself with a hand on the tiled wall over my head. His fingertips press on the back of my head and I wonder if he wants to fuck my mouth or wants to be sucked off... just to be sure I wrap my left hand around the base of his cock and give in to the pressure. He rubs the smooth head against the roof of my mouth a couple of times, back and forth, then slips down my throat carefully and without force. His hand locks on the back of my head and holds me in place as I drop my hand from his cock to let him have his way with my mouth, reaching for his hip instead. He moves slowly at first, then as he senses no protest, it gets rougher and faster...and just as I gag on his cock for the first time I hear him snigger.

"Oh Jesus, your mouth..."

His hip moves in slow circles in an unfaltering rhythm   
(Ah, the fun of fucking musicians!) till he takes my breath away completely, his grip relentless on the back of my head. He lets me go after a few seconds, pulling back and allowing me to catch some air.

"Oh I like that flush on you..." His smug smile turns a tad cruel as he looks down upon me, panting and hard and wanting, wanting, wanting. Dragging me up by my hair, he starts kissing me hungrily and as meltingly as a school girl on her first date, wet and sweet with a lot of tongue. Turning us around, he leans me against the wall, one hand caressing my neck, the other dropping into my pants after ripping off the button. Stroking my record breaking hard-on cockteasingly lightly, he says between kisses:

" I hope you are loud..wanted to hear you moan my name since you walked on stage tonight to pick up our award. Will you moan for me, English bouy?"

His hands are soft and touching me in a breathtaking mixture of tenderness and self-evident control. His kiss is hasteless and wet as he now knows that he has got me laid out for devouring and no one will steal our pleasure. Julian licks my lips, then my neck and adds another mark to my nape whilst he strokes me to willingness. Oh yes... he is good at what he does and I don't feel inclined to stop him when he pulls his lips from my skin with a slight suction sound; catching my eyes and putting a very indecent finger in my mouth after rubbing my swollen and bruised feeling lips with his thumb. This is getting out of control and Carl would certainly not like the way it's progressing, I think incoherently. This not my game anymore. I know I am being played. He turns me around and I rub my hot forehead against the cooling tiles, trying to cool myself down a bit as he pulls down my pants over my arse, just enough to expose the part he is interested in.

"I'll get you all nice and loose and wet for me, you' ll be begging me to take you," he whispers hotly in my ear, stroking my arse cheeks. I feel his hand spreading my cheeks a bit, a wet fingertip circles my entrance for a torturous moment, then his thumb slips into me, up to the first knuckle. I let out a surprised squeak, wondering for a short second; but his finger in me - slowly and steadily moving - robs me of the thought I was trying to catch. He is rubbing the inside of the tight little ring of lovely muscles in small circling movements. Damn! Wow!   
He makes me moan out loud for the first time after about a minute, when he pulls my shirt and my suit jacket down over my shoulders and starts licking the spot between my shoulder blades, kissing and whispering filth into my searing skin. 

I am not begging (yet) but biting my own hand, trying to find a place to hold on to, but there is only a wall; now warm under my increasingly hot chest. Next there is a feeling of wetness sliding down my crack and another slender thumb slipping into me. It doesn't burn too much but it's a confusingly dirty and bossy feeling. I wonder how he knows this trick - This is not just stretching me for a nice shag - normally this would be preparation for something very different. 

I wonder if these boys are honestly up to that kind of kinkiness or ...He starts moving one finger whilst the other one is just... there. Still, stretching me, but not fucking me yet... And here I loose my threat of thoughts again. Oh God I feel a bit out of my depth now... then he fucks me slow and shallow with both fingers and pulls me apart bit by bit..up to the second knuckle now and the stretch gets more intense. I yelp out a "AAAhh" and he distracts me with a kiss so hungry that I hardly know why I complained.

"Look how easily you take it, its incredible .. I'm gonna fuck you now, okay? You want that?" 

How is he still so in control, the bratty little bastard?

"Oh fuck Yes, please, do it ..." I manage to say. 

His fingers move in deeply once more, rubbing over the, by now, almost aching prostate, before leaving me swiftly.   
More wetness slides down my crack, he spreads my cheeks once again and then the blunt, slippery tip of his cock slides down.

"You ready, Baby?" He asks and my keening sigh is answer enough.

X


End file.
